Still. Skelly’s never done him wrong in the past. The gang makes a lot of noise about the Organization, but all the gangs do and he always figured it was part of their act: tough-talking authority-hating rockabilly roller girls, spitting in the eye of The Man, always wanting a bigger piece of the pie. They’ve never moved to do anything to back up all that boom and bluster.

But now Mookie’s not so sure.

“Mookie Pearl,” she says. “The biggest, baldest, most beautiful Daddy-o on the block.”

He grunts. “Skelly.”

“What’s the tale, nightingale?”

“I’m bettin’ you know why I’m here.”

“I don’t pretend to read minds. Though that’s something I’d sure love to do. Can you imagine? Wouldn’t you love to see what those dirty-birdies think about?” She tilts her head and the blue bangs hang like the tail-feathers of a drunken peacock. “Smart money says that everybody thinks about sex and death 24/7. I know I do. Sex more than death.” She bats her eyelashes. “How about you?”

She’s playing around, but Mookie can see it on her – the smile is forced. She’s nervous.

“You have someone here.”

“We have lots of someones here. But we don’t run girls like that, Mookie. You want that sorta thing, you’re gonna need to check with the Sinner Kids, maybe the Railroaders. I suspect they have a stable of beautiful honeys, oh, and boys too if you like that–”

“Stop. I’m looking for the girl calls herself Persephone.”

“Ohhh. Don’t you mean your daughter?”

A gut-punch. It staggers him. That information’s getting out, then, too. Skelly eyes him. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t know how to answer that without getting himself in trouble. All Mookie can do is flare his nostrils, let out a short, sharp breath.

“We’re all friends, here,” she says. Gives him a wink.

Skelly pulls the chain around, unlocks the padlock.

She unlocks it, waves him inside.

And soon as he’s through the door, a shotgun barrel jams into the side of his neck.

Figures.

They close the door behind him.

Soon as they do, Mookie grabs the shotgun by the barrel, yanks it out of the hand of the girl who’s holding it. She yelps as he rips it from her grip. She breaks a nail in the trigger guard. He hears it snap. The girl turns away. He sees a fiery wrench tat on her bicep.

“You don’t do guns in this gang,” Mookie says. He points it at Skelly.

“We might’ve changed that policy. You don’t know.”

“I know now.” He stares. “I don’t have time to fuck around.”